


surprise me

by PikaCheeka



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel)
Genre: Abuse, M/M, Masochism, Rape, Sadism, dubcon, long and torturous sex, mild conditioning, multiple sex scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:38:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PikaCheeka/pseuds/PikaCheeka
Summary: Virus never knew he could be such a masochist.





	surprise me

**Author's Note:**

> For Trip’s birthday I had hoped to finish the sequel to “a sea change”, which I’d posted for Virus’ birthday. That didn’t happen, mainly because I got sidetracked by this fic. I guess this one still works for Trip’s special day, as he gets lots of fun sex right up his alley, much to Virus’ chagrin. This is actually my second "Trip rapes Virus and awakens his inner masochist" fic, my first one being "what rough beast..." written last year, but this one is in a different scenario, and much more explicit. I just love this premise. Virus is a little different in this than in many of my other fics (what Trip thinks about him is not entirely true, as it is in many other fics of mine). But that might be because this one is REALLY indulgent and explicit and and noncon and depraved and so extreme but Happy birthday, Trip! Enjoy some Virus.

 He expects to be home earlier than he is, and he expects Trip to have been in bed long ago when he steps into the apartment and sees the younger man sprawled on the couch with a can of beer in his hand, several empty cans lined up on the floor beside him. He’s surprised, but he doesn’t think much of it, a dismissal he rapidly comes to regret.

"You’re up late. What have you been doing all night?" He yawns, tossing his coat on the couch and reaching for his tie. All he wants to do is shower and crawl into bed. He’s used to late nights, whereas Trip normally goes to bed before he does, just as he wakes up long before he does.

"What have _you_ been doing?"

Virus pauses, tie half undone as he raises an eyebrow at Trip. The hostility and mockery in his voice is rare, even rarer to be directed at him, and he knows then that the younger man's been drinking for some time. "The usual. Why are you getting shitfaced? We have work tomorrow."

"Fuck you,” he says it calmly, the anger in his voice suddenly receding as he sits upright and puts the now-empty can down.

“Yea, okay.” These words are the second thing that night he will regret, though he thinks nothing of it at the moment. That one last moment.

Trip’s in front of him before he can even react, and he finds himself taken aback by his speed, by the fact that he somehow manages to move faster than him at times despite being so much larger, and by the distinct menace in his eyes. He’s never seen this look aimed at him before, and he finds it startling, alarming.

It’s because of this that he hesitates before he opens his mouth to yell at him, tell him to back off, spit and hiss, but Trip is on him before he even has the chance, cracking his head against the floor with the force of his mouth on his. It dazes him for a moment, prevents him from understanding what’s happening until he can taste the alcohol on his tongue as Trip calmly, forcefully pries his lips open. He moves with the same sure and steady dominance that he uses against those he tortures, a violence somehow all the more horrifying for its leisure. Something in Virus seizes up then – _he’s never done this before_ – and  he shoves up against him, elbows him, to no avail.

He'd forgotten how much Trip weighed, nearly twenty kilograms heavier than him, and as he struggles beneath him he realizes how useless it is to try to get him off. Hurt him or talk to him or hope he gets bored and steps back - the only options available to him, two of which he knows are possible for him and him alone, for Trip would never listen to anyone else, would never stop hurting anyone else once he begun. But as the younger man kisses him again, he doesn't find this as much a comfort as he used to, because for all of their exceptions, _this is still happening_. Though it's only seconds, it feels like hours before Virus is able to jerk his head away and find enough air to breathe.

"This isn't funny, Trip," he finally hisses, sure to make his voice commanding, to remind him of his place.

"Not supposed to be." _That sing-song voice_ , and Virus grits his teeth against the mockery therein.

"You’re drunk.” It’s the only reasonable explanation. “Now get off."

"Nope. Don't wanna."

"I mean it. Stop it."

"No," he snaps then, and there is a feral viciousness to his voice that makes Virus' blood run cold. He's prey now, the shift having happened so easily, so arbitrarily, that he wonders what possibly could have triggered it. _The way I took my tie off. The question I asked when I walked in the door. My bored response to the “fuck you”._ He doesn’t know what he did to cause this, or if he did anything at all, if Trip had planned it all along, or if Trip was merely drunk and irritable enough tonight to act on something. It is a slow, dawning horror, a realization that he first feels in his fingertips that seeps into him until it resonates behind his eyes before exploding in the back of his skull. Trip isn't letting him go. He's serious, and to make certain that Virus knows this, he adds then, "You're a whore and I'm going to fuck you."

The word jars Virus out of the horror for a moment as he spits, "I'm a _what_?"

"You heard me."

For a moment there, he believes there is a way out of this. A misunderstanding, a confusion, nothing to worry about. Trip will realize his error, will back off, and they can forget this. He opens his mouth to say it, so say _'I’m not a whore._ _I don't do this for anyone_ ,' a fact not entirely true, but he hasn't done it for anyone since he was a child, a fact Trip has never needed to know. But Trip never lets him get the words out, his hands and teeth everywhere as he crushes both of his wrists in his grip, holds them over Virus’ head, and bears down on his mouth again. He moves fast, mouthing down his jawline until he’s at his throat, and then he’s shifting his weight, holding his arms down with one hand as he runs fingers down his chest, waist, hip. And then he bites where his neck meets his shoulder, tugs at his belt as he gnashes his teeth and makes Virus gasp. "Trip!"

"Yea?" He hums against him as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his fly, untucks his shirt, like they're having a normal conversation and he just happens to be undressing him.

"You're hurting me." _Biting me, crushing my wrists and holding my arms up at an unnatural angle, and…_

"I know," and with that he rips his pants down, somehow gets them off with one hand, at one point jerking him upright into a half-sitting position because he doesn’t dare let go of his wrists. Virus will remember that moment often in the next few hours, the one moment he had to get away, when he was too shocked at what was happening to even try. And then he’s flat on his back again and Trip’s over him.

“Get off. Stop it. I mean it, Trip, stop.” he snaps again, knowing full well it doesn’t matter, it will make no difference, but still he finds himself yelling, gritting his teeth and jerking his wrists. But Trip ignores him now as he runs his free hand slowly up his naked thigh, over his torso to unbutton his shirt and coming to rest on throat. His hand is burning against him, fire over his skin.

“Hmm. Shirt can stay for now but…glasses on or off?” he says suddenly, tapping his chin with an index finger as he grins down at him, watches as Virus freezes and stares at him in disbelief.  “Hey, I’m asking you. Last time you get a say tonight afore yer just begging.”

It’s these words that make him open his mouth. “Off. Off.” _I don’t want to see details of this. I don’t want to be aware of what’s happening._ But he only says, “You’ll probably break them.”

He laughs that cold laugh Virus is all too familiar with as he takes them off, folds them and tosses them onto the couch. And then he hooks a finger into the waistband of his boxer briefs, grins and arches an eyebrow and calmly spits out a  “Should worry more ‘bout breaking _you_.” As he rips them down and off.

He touches him then, unexpectedly soft touches as he strokes his belly, running fingers through his pubic hair before gently touching his dick, holding him in his hand, and cupping his balls. Virus starts feeling his chest constrict then, his legs start to tremble beneath his touch. Fear. _Because I know he’s really going to do it now. He’s going to shove his dick inside of me and rut in me. The look in his eyes, so distant and aroused and no longer even seeing me…._

"You really are pretty, huh." He's speaking more to himself than to Virus, and something about his voice brings another rush of horror and adrenaline.

He makes one last effort to get out from under him, catch him off guard, but all it does is make Trip grab him, twist his genitals in a way that makes him howl. He can't win against him. They mock-fight often enough that he knows his advantage is in tricking the younger man, and that when he's down on his back on the floor like this with that bulk on top of him, he's nearly helpless. All he can do is make him angrier. If he can get a hand free, he could go for the eyes, the throat, but even now, he finds himself unwilling to even consider crippling damage. _After all, whatever he's about to do him can't be that bad, can't be permanent, at least_ , so he tells himself. _Just do as he says._ He bites his lower lip, gnaws at the cuts he has already left there. _You can't fight him. The more you resist, the more he'll hurt you. He likes the resistance. It excites him, and when he gets excited, he’ll..._ He despises pain. He shudders, grits his teeth and swallows the gasp of fear in his throat. He surprises himself with how quickly his eyes start to burn, with how quickly the anger recedes and gives way to nothing but raw, unadulterated fear, and he wonders again what he’d done to cause this.

"It's better if you scream," Trip grins as he says it, runs his fingers gently through Virus' hair as if he hadn’t bruised his testicles only seconds ago. "But I can tell if you're faking so don’t do that. Gotta be real or I’ll get mad."

He nods, several frantic jerks of his head, desperate to show he's compliant, that he'll do anything for him. He knows he will scream, knows that if Trip wants something, he'll make it happen tonight. He's already been reduced this far, after all.

“You break really quickly,” he breathes over his eyelids now, intimate, close, as if he knows what Virus is thinking, already violating him before even entering his body. And his next words make the bile rise in Virus’ throat, because he can’t _know_ this. “Or maybe you’re just _used to it_.”

And then Trip's touching him again, slow strokes, almost loving, reverent, and Virus takes several deep breaths. Whatever he says or does now is worthless. The stiller he lies, the faster this can be over. He has withdrawn as best he knows how, and he doesn't register the finger moving up the cleft of his ass until it's too late. He doesn't use lube.

"That's just one," a soft whisper in his ear.

 _Just hurry up_ , he wants to say, but he does nothing, only arches his back and tries to roll onto his hip, alleviate the uncomfortable sensation of having something hot and _alive_ in there as his muscles contract against the violation. It hurts more than he imagined one finger would, though it's bearable now, he tries to tell himself. _It can't get much worse than this._

As if Trip again knows what he's thinking, he bites his ear suddenly. There is a low growl in his voice that makes Virus shudder in something he isn't sure is only fear as he continues. "I'm bigger than four, you skank."

He still says nothing, not even when Trip shoves a second finger in and crooks them, scrapes his nails down Virus' insides. He's too distracted by the new sense of unease curling around his spine, by how aware he is of how Trip smells, of sweat and sex and cigarettes and cologne, by the weight of his body on him and in him. _In him..._ He’s already inside of him, forcing his body to prepare for the violation to come. He's seen Trip naked before, watched him fuck people none too gently, even helped jerk him off a few times before when they were both sufficiently drunk. He knows how big he is, what he is capable of, but he breathes hard through his nose and tells himself he can handle this. And then Trip moves again.

The third finger makes him sob, a strangled gasp as his eyes roll back and he closes them hard against the pressure behind his eyelids. Trip laughs at the sound, withdraws his fingers as suddenly as he’d shoved them in, and Virus can hear a belt unbuckling, the shifting of fabric.

"You always cry like this?"

"I don't... _do_ this," he chokes out. They're the first words he is able to say in what feels like hours, though he knows only minutes have passed. He doesn’t dare open his eyes, doesn’t want to see the size of his erection as he tries to close his legs, tries to still the trembling of his thighs, tries to ignore the gaping sensation in his ass from Trip’s fingers. _At least he’s not going to make me suck him off. It can’t be that bad if…_

"Sure you don't." And then he's between his legs, running the head of his dick down his perenium. He's hard and wet and bigger than Virus remembers, and he says the next words calmly. "I'm gonna fuck you now."

Virus finds himself nodding again, though he doesn't know why. He has no say in this, no power over what's happening, and all he can do is swallow the fear and try to control his breathing. It will be a relief, he tries to tell himself. _Now that it's finally starting, it can be over sooner. It can't last that long, can it? Ten or twelve minutes, at the absolute most? Trip’s usually so fast._ _Maybe I can count the seconds, give me something else to think about, try to distance myself from what's happening..._

It's as far as he gets, because then Trip is pushing into him and he’s too big and hard and unyielding and it _hurts_ and the fear explodes up his spine and he's convulsing in anticipation and a whimper escapes him as he feels every muscle in his body seize up.

Trip moves so quickly that Virus doesn't have time to process his motion, and he isn't even aware that the pain in his ass has lessened before there's sudden pressure around his neck. "Stop. Clenching."

He's irritated now, and Virus knows what he is capable of when he's irritated. _He’s killed for less, and even if I’m…_ Fingers he didn’t know were free until this moment scrabbling at the hand around his throat, he opens and closes his mouth several times, struggling to breathe. He wants to tell him he's not doing it on purpose, that he's trying to cooperate, but the air wheezing through his passages isn't enough for words. He wonders suddenly if he'll pass out, if that will make things easier for him in the end, if he'll end up fainting anyway.

"I have to really stretch you, huh," He mutters, more to himself than to Virus, whose world has shrunk to trying to breathe. He's even rougher this time, shoving three fingers in at once, so abruptly Virus' ass lifts off the floor and he feels something tear with a pain that would make him howl if he could only find air. He scissors them immediately, sighs in satisfaction at the blood, and the grip on Virus' throat lessens. 

But there's no relief the second time Trip positions himself, nothing but a raw and bottomless terror wrenching through his insides. This had happened to him before, when he was a child, but he'd been heavily drugged, been held by people who took care not to be too rough with him, who prepared him and kept him from feeling too much. But what's happening now is too much for him to bear, because Trip wants him to feel everything a thousand times over, and he screams as the younger man shoves into him, rips him open anew.

He's strangely aware of how much noise he's making, of his whimpers and gasps as Trip settles into him, but he can't bring himself to care how pitiful he has become. The pain is bad enough, but the discomfort is what makes him groan, dig his nails into his palms until he bleeds. That terrible fullness he feels, the subtle shifting of something hot and hard and alive inside of him, is more horrifying than anything he's ever known. _And it’s only just beginning_. Trip's muttering in his ear, a steady stream of obscenities and insults that could almost be loving were it not for what he is doing.

He struggles to lay limp, to let it happen to him as Trip groans and lays still to adjust, but his legs are pushed back and his thighs are tight and trembling despite himself, unused to this position, this sensation, and the floor is cold and hard beneath him. He finds himself wondering why Trip chose this position, why he wanted to face him, but doesn’t get very far because suddenly everything changes again.

Trip grabs him, jerks him out of the horror he had felt for one infinitesimal moment he could adjust to by suddenly grabbing him roughly around the waist and rolling onto his back, dragging Virus with him. He doesn't pull out, doesn't give a second of respite, but somehow suddenly the balance has shifted as he  clutches a wrist, a thigh, and angles up into him, forcing him to balance on his hips, to sit on the dick that’s tearing him apart, the full weight of his own body now impaling him up to the hilt as his eyes roll back momentarily and his mind reels at the pain of suddenly having that violation _deeper_ inside.

 _This isn't how it's supposed to go_ , he thinks numbly. It's supposed to be a straight-forward fuck, brutal and agonizing, but something where he simply had to lie there and take it. The unexpectedness of this terrifies him, and he realizes he can't predict Trip, that this could go even worse than he imagined, after all. He wants to get off of him, to run, but his mind is numb and his body doesn't react the way he wants it to.

And then Trip grins. "Move. Show me how you got famous."

He stares, disbelieving, eyes wide in fear and confusion. _This again. He really thinks I’m that kind of guy, that I do this for other men._ "I..."

"Come on, slut. You’re blushing so bad you must like it," Trip jerks his hips up once, bumping his thigh roughly against Virus' back and sending sparks of pain up his spine.

He can't stop the sob escaping from him as he leans forward, rocks his hips weakly. He can feel him twitch inside of him, feel his length dragged over his open wounds, and he jerks a hand over his mouth, sinks his teeth in to keep from crying out. And Trip just keeps grinning, urging him on, fingers wrapped around his thighs, nails digging into his ass. His ass. He doesn't want to think about that. From this position he can see blood on the floor, on the two of them, smears over thighs and stomachs, and he feels the bile rise in his throat again. He's hurt badly, that much he can tell, and he hopes it’s only a surface wound, but _still that involves_ …Stitches. Lying on a cold, sterile table with his ass in the air as doctors touch him. He doesn't want to go there again. He's watching his life fall apart in slow motion, unable to stop it. He tries to move again, and a third time, but he can't get a rhythm going amidst the pain and the fear and he can see Trip's leer falter. He doesn't know if he should be more afraid of displeasing him or doing exactly what he wants. _I’m trying, I’m trying to do everything you want. Don’t be angry with me, don’t hurt me even more…_ But when he opens his mouth to speak, all that comes out is, “I can’t…I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t give me that,” Trip snarls as he grinds up into him. “You go out all the time with other men.”

“I do! But I-“

“Don’t wanna put out to me? Is that it?”

 _Don’t ask that, don’t make me answer that_ , and so he rasps out a different truth, “I only top.”

“Don’t give me that.” Another grind, more force in his fingers as he pushes Virus down onto him.

“It’s true.” His voice cracks as he says it.

It’s the crack that seems to do it, the desperation on his face, because Trip stares at him for a long moment then. “Really.”

Virus nods frantically for the third time that night before hanging his head, sweat-soaked hair in his eyes. _Please believe me. This was a mistake. I’m not who you thought I was so let’s just stop this here and I’ll pretend it never happened and I won’t hold it against you and…._

"So you…really aren’t a cumbucket for everyone.” There’s suspicion in his voice, but not total disbelief, not mockery like before. “You just fuck other guys like I’m doin’?”

 _Not quite this viciously_ , but he nods again.

Trip seems to mull over this a moment before asking, “Do you suck dick?”

 _No, no, no, don’t give him ideas. But maybe he’ll let you go then. He’ll make you give him head and that will be it._ “Sometimes,” his voice is barely a whisper.

“But taking it up the ass…you really don't know what you're doing."

He opens his mouth to speak. _So let me go. It's not what you wanted so just drop it_. But he finds the words aren't there and he's only gasping for air, yelping in shock and pain when Trip abruptly grabs him again, throws him down and rolls on top of him in one fluid motion, all without leaving him.

"I'll teach you what to do for next time then," he grins, and Virus finds himself fixating on the size of his canines as his eyes widen in confusion and horror.

He feels the lurch of fear not only in his gut but lower, as he suddenly senses the stirrings of arousal. He's keenly aware of the spurt of fresh blood dripping down his backside and he doesn't know if he should laugh or cry at the absurdity of this, that he's somehow getting turned on by this, that his body is reacting to the promise of more violent rape and it's in _excitement_. But he doesn't have time to reflect on it, as Trip sets a brutal pace, fast and hard and hopelessly rough, dragging himself out nearly all the way and slamming into him up to the hilt again with every thrust. And he bites, sinks his teeth into whatever he can as he drags his nails over Virus' nipples and torso, squeezes and jerks his dick just as violently as he fucks him.

At some point he hits something inside of Virus that makes him scream, makes him buck his hips and kick the floor and arch his feet and spine as his body reacts violently, beyond his control, at the intensity snapping through every nerve in his body. He doesn't know what it is, only that it is different, something _more_ beyond the pain, that he never wants to feel it again, that it's a something-more threatening to devour him whole. It's the only time Trip hesitates, stares with a suddenly unreadable expression, something _more_ than lust and dominance, and then he grins, angles his hips, and thrusts into the same spot with horrific precision.

Virus sobs then, whimpering and shaking beneath him. The pain, the _something-more_ , is exquisite, a violence tearing up his spine and radiating through his body with every thrust. He can't get a grip on anything, can't understand what is happening, can't even find air to breathe, all his senses utterly consumed by the man over and in him. It's the most terrifyingly overwhelming thing that's ever happened and the loss of control, the sheer helplessness, only compounds the horror. He can feel Trip moving inside of him and something about it being _him_ , being Trip, the one person in the world he doesn't despise, is too much for Virus to bear. Because he knows now, after having been nailed in that spot a half dozen times, that he's _enjoying_ it. This is no visceral, physical reaction to being touched a certain way that forces him to give himself up entirely, prevents him from receding because there's nothing of him left. It's pure ecstasy, excitement at the pain, the pure terror, the way Trip is so completely and utterly controlling him, devouring him as he dominates every aspect of his being. He remembers being fourteen, doped up on morphine, tired and disoriented and numb from the waist down while several researchers pass him around, fuck him every way they can think of as they sigh in disappointment at how unresponsive he is. He remembers fucking various men over the years, disgusted at how submissive they are, at how some beg him to hurt them, at the delight he feels when he hurts them far more than they ask for, makes them scream and beg for mercy. Masochists were always foul, pathetic beasts to him. He doesn't want to be that person, and suddenly he's slapping a hand over his mouth, sinking his teeth into his flesh to stop himself from screaming in rage.

"Don't hold in the screams," he snarls in his ear. "I'll force them out."

 _I want you to._ But he doesn't say it, only bites down on his hand still harder and turns away, willing Trip to push him over the edge, to hurt him more than he already is, and even as he does it he loathes himself.

Trip sighs then, sinks his teeth into his ear and mumbles something about warning him that sets Virus' gut lurching in excitement. And he makes him scream again, snapping his hips so brutally that Virus feels as if he's being split in half. It's a feeling he craves, and for the barest of moments he wonders if Trip would kill him if he asked him. But the thought is gone as soon as it appears, because then Trip is kissing him, shoving deep into his mouth and forcing his head back. Virus obeys, arching his spine and pressing his shoulder blades together, holding his jaw open and his tongue slack as he struggles to not respond, and when Trip pauses to gasp for air he whispers a _you're mine_ with an agonizingly slow grind of his hips that makes Virus' heart jump. He remembers wanting Trip, watching him on hit runs, seeing the way his muscles bunched beneath his shirt and the way his eyes turned cold, brutal and predatory, watching and _wanting_. And now that viciousness is his, entirely his, in a way that is far more intimate than his most depraved fantasies.

The first orgasm takes him by surprise.

Trip laughs, whispers obscenities in his ear about how fast he came, about how women take longer than that even when they want it, about what a whore he is, how he must be a slut deep down if his body reacts this way his _first_ time, the word as mocking and cruel as disbelief, and as Virus struggles to come down from his climax, he loathes himself because he _agrees. I must be nothing but a whore after all, if that kind of abuse can make me come, if dominance and hints of further rape are what push me over the edge._

And still he finds himself trying to tell him to stop, let him breathe, let him recover a little, his insides so painfully sensitive he's sobbing again. Only his exhaustion saves what little, if any, dignity he feels he has left, as his pleas are incoherent, and Trip pays him no mind, only murmurs in his ear that he's making cute noises now as he changes his angle, hits that spot again. It’s too much too soon, and Virus finds himself wishing he were dead, if only it meant there’d be no one else controlling his body anymore.

It isn’t long after that when Trip comes inside of him, a phenomena Virus feels in the very core of his being, an extra deep push, a white-hot heat deep inside of him, and his own body reacts. He comes dry the second time, too close behind his first orgasm to even drip, eyes wide and unseeing and mouth open in a silent scream.

He slides out of him then, dragging blood and come with him, and Virus inhales sharply as he does. He’d been so absorbed in wanting it to end he hadn’t thought about the after-effects, the feeling of an open, gaping wound between his legs as that fullness was suddenly removed. _I want him back in there._ The thought is fleeting, but it makes him squeeze his legs together and bite his lip hard, silently regretting it.

"I'm still hard," he says it softly as he runs a hand down Virus' stomach, smearing come and blood over his skin, and the words are a death knell in his ears as Trip continues, "You came twice, eh. Only fair if I do, too."

He's too exhausted, scared and disgusted to do anything but give a soft sob when Trip pushes into him again, somehow hard already. After all, he supposes he deserves this, if his body is going to betray him, if some dark part of him he'd never known existed enjoys this. He stiffens and his body convulses, but there's no resistance now, his insides raw and complacent, _prepared_. And the younger man laughs when he enters him, mutters that he's stretched out and the blood made everything slick and easy.

He's limp for some time, too drained to fight him, and he keeps his eyes closed. He wonders at some point if Trip will want to go a third time, wonders how long this night can last, and wonders if he can die from self-loathing.

"You're hard again already..." Trip sounds surprised, mocking, as if he himself weren’t ready to go again after scarcely any time.

 _But he isn’t the one being violated. He has a right to be excited about this, unlike..._ Virus freezes, tightens up around him and snaps his eyes open as he fully registers what was just said. Because he hadn't even noticed until he’d been told. "I..."

"No way didya never take it up the ass like this. _Whore_."

It's in that realization that he gives in, surrenders himself willingly to whatever Trip had awoken in him, and he finds the energy to push down against him, to wrap his arms around his neck and pull him closer for leverage. _It doesn't matter now, nothing matters, because everything Trip calls me is true._ _I might as well work with him, wring whatever pleasure I can get out it and wait for it to be over, enjoy it while I can before I have to wall up this aspect of myself, this masochism that I'd never known existed, and do everything I can to pretend it isn't there._ He's done a lot of walling up over the years, a lot of compartmentalizing, a lot of forgetting. It's a talent of his, a skill shorn up on the years of being cut open for medical experiments, the years of sexual abuse he'd experienced as a child. These are things he has made a conscious effort to forget.

And just as he accepts this, Trip hits him in that something- _more_ again, and Virus gasps out a "There!"

Trip freezes, a hulking mass crouched over him, a look of incredulousness creeping across his face. And Virus knows he recognizes it, knows Trip is remembering how he'd screamed earlier, knows he can tell the significance of _this_. "There again?"

"Yes," he hisses before he can stop himself and buries his face in Trip's neck, tears burning in his eyes.

"Do you..."

But he doesn't finish, because Virus digs his nails into his back and grinds his hips down  with all the strength he can gather and silences whatever uncomfortable question he was about to ask. And Trip obeys, thrusting into his prostate until he’s leaking again, gasping for air as the disgust for himself reaches depths he’d never known existed.

He doesn’t open his eyes again, keeps his face pressed into the crook of Trip’s shoulder, bites him when the next orgasm takes over, and fervently wishes this will never end, because as he rides through his third climax in less than an hour, he realizes that this isn’t something he wants to wall up inside of himself and forget.

 

\-      -

 

"You took aspirin."

"So? You know I get headaches," he says evenly, screwing the cap back on the toothpaste and reaching for his glasses. Steamed up from the unusually long shower he’d just taken. He pointedly avoids eye contact with the younger man leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom, silently curses himself for not locking the door.

"Not what I’m talking ‘bout. Thought you took ecstasy or some sex thing, you were so into it and you came so much. And you acted kinda confused when I started."

"Oh," he exhales sharply, digs his nails into his palms to still the tingling of arousal he feels at hearing Trip say those words. He doesn’t understand how he can feel it again so soon. _You should be too fucked out right now to be feeling that._ "You're talking about that. Maybe I did."

"Maybe? Naw. That was all you. You and your _aspirin_. Why you acting so weird about it? Ain’t like you."

He doesn't respond. He remembers downing four aspirin not three hours ago, mumbling something about a new drug on the street being peddled by so and so – not an untruth, merely irrelevant – and sprawling on the couch, muting the television after a few minutes as if it were bothering him, curling his hip forward in such a way as to make his shirt ride up, low slung lounge plants well below his iliac crest, revealing some pale expanse of belly. He’d been surprised when the bruises had eventually faded, when the stitches had dissolved, and his body looked the same as it ever had; he’d felt that what Trip had revealed in him should have left some indelible mark on him. Because he remembers being disgusted with himself, loathing what he’d become – _fuck me fuck me_ rape _me_ – even  as he let out a giggle, splayed fingers over his eyes and rolled onto his back and muttered nonsense until he could feel the younger man’s gaze burning into him.

He remembers the lurch of fear in his gut when Trip finally touched him, fear not only at what might be coming but fear that he’d give himself away as he mumbled and sighed and told Trip to knock it off, to leave him alone, words that had never stopped him before. And then when he’d pushed him back down to the sofa, batted away his hands, he’d brushed against his crotch and realized the makings of an erection Virus had been unable to hide. And Virus remembers the way Trip had suddenly palmed him, fingers slowly running up his shaft through his pants as he moaned out another _no, stop it_ , pretended to be helpless, confused, only to have Trip laugh, “Are you for real…you think I’d fall for that…” in such a way that made the bottom of his stomach drop and his heart skip a beat – _he knows, he knows, he knows_ – until the other man continued with “Can’t believe you got this from that fattie in Green Seal. He’s never got anything that strong. Even blushing already…” as he abruptly grabbed his thighs, dragged him closer and leaned over him.

And then Trip interrupts his thoughts, jerks him from his reveries. "It's not a bad thing."

"Huh."

"If you like it rough."

"That's more than liking it rough, Trip. I needed stitches the first time." He groans and lifts his glasses to rub his eyes, because there was something about how Trip had just spoken, _like it rough_ , that made him feel hot. _He’d tried to ignore it the first hour after that first assault, tried to ignore the pain, the feeling of being stretched and gaping, the blood that wouldn’t stop oozing out of him as he tried to dry himself off, tried to clean his ass out as he sat on a wadded up towel in the bathtub and sobbed. Until he’d finally had to call for him,_ Trip, I need stitches. _He’d tried to sound calm but the fear had seeped into his voice, and by Trip’s expression he knew he was afraid too. Afraid he’d gone too far. They’d given each other stitches often enough before, their apartment filled with a suspicious amount of stolen medical supplies and instruments, their past filled with a suspicious amount of medical knowledge force upon them, but this was different. And Trip had called one of the Yakuza doctors, trained to work in basements and dark bedrooms with utmost secrecy. Virus hadn’t been able to keep back the tears in his eyes as he was examined – pleading for localized anesthesia because he couldn’t bear to feel any more prodding down there – and stitched up – only an anal tear after all, he’d said, nothing deeper – and given painkillers, but he had been able to silence the man before he could say the words_ rape _and_ victim, _because with an injury like that there weren’t many excuses they could come up with_. _He was paid generously for his silence, his solemn swearing never to speak of this to anyone, his steady denial of recognition of either of them, while four bioengineered eyes furiously glared at him._ "I read...you can't like it normal once you start this."

"Doubt that."

"You don't know anything."

But Trip ignores him. "Jes bring little toys to sex then so you get pain? Nobody'd think that's weird. I get a lotta women bringing stuff they don't end up needing with me."

"Yea. Women." He almost spits the word as he leans over the sink and continues to avoid eye contact, his stomach twisting as he reflects on who he has become. He’d struggled to pretend to be confused, disoriented, limp, tried to push Trip away and roll off the couch and stand only to sink to his knees again. Trip had manhandled him then, shoved him down and pulled his pants off in one quick motion, his shirt in another, as he leered at him, ignored his weak protests with a “ _Shouldn’ta done drugs around me, yea?_ ” which Virus had felt he had to laugh to. At one point he’d touched Trip, brushed a hand against his crotch and made another absurd laugh, a nervous tittering he’d heard himself make when he’d recorded himself on drugs in the past. He remembers now as he groans and bows his head how he’d despised himself in that moment, and how he’d also been so horribly aroused, excited by his own depravity. It felt so naughty now, being naked in front of him when the first time he’d still had a shirt. The younger man had happily accommodated his false confusion _. Mmm you’re easy tonight. Will you even remember this? I wonder… you’re so out of it. And you’re so hard. Yer cute when you make that face._

Flat on his back he’d lain, with his arms sprawled above his head as Trip hoisted his legs up around his hips, fingered him and stretched him out and made him feel the beginnings of that divine pain again. Trip had asked him if he _wanted_ it, his ass already seemed so ready, and Virus had gasped out _wreck me_ before he could stop himself. It was what he’d say if he really were drugged, right? But when he’d begun fucking him, he’d been too gentle then after that initial thrust, infuriatingly gentle, and Virus had realized with a growing horror that he had two options here. Pretend to rally his strength and try to fight him to awaken that violence in him, and in doing so likely give up all pretense of being drugged. Or start begging him to be rougher. But then Trip had surprised him, had grabbed his hand and pulled his arm down, pressed his fingers against his perineum. _Feel where I’m inside you. Keep your eyes open, you slut. Watch my face as I fuck you, own you_. It had been the first time Virus had felt his erection with his fingers, and it sent a thrill down his spine as he struggled to maintain eye contact with the younger man, feeling the way his dick, burning hot and slick with pre-come, slid in and out of him, the way the skin around his swollen and abused asshole tugged with every thrust. How Trip stared at him sparked that fear in him again, the feral hunger and dominance masked by a supreme control and calmness in his gaze making him shudder and writhe. And Virus had realized then that for all his feigned gentleness, Trip knew exactly what he was doing.

Trip who now just shrugs, nonplussed. "I can give you whatever you need there. Don't need to ever tell anyone else."

"I already slept with two other men. That way," he spits out before he can stop himself. He doesn’t want to remember those nights, those awkward illicit meetings where he’d been called everything from a bitch to a cunt and not because of how submissive he was, but because of how irritable he’d been. He’d never even taken his pants off for either of them.

"Oh." He whistles softly.

"I didn't know how...to make you do that again. I couldn't ask. And I had to know if I liked bottoming with anyone else." Virus can hear him shift his weight but he doesn’t dare look at him, doesn’t want to meet his eyes, doesn’t want to look at the cut of his jaw or the width of his shoulders or the size of his hands. Because that body had consumed nearly every thought he’s had in the last six weeks as he’d feverishly wondered how it were possible to make someone rape him when he secretly wanted it, as he’d jerked off nearly every night and ordered a dozen sex toys to shove up his ass until he’d found one that was the same size as Trip, one that he’d played with until he came from that alone with tears in his eyes because it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t hot and pulsing and alive and he wasn’t being _forced_ into him; everything that happened to his body was in his control and he hated how badly he needed to be under Trip’s power.

" _Do_ you?"

"Not really. I was too pissed though anyway."

"At me?"

"No. I always thought...you might do that one day," he doesn't realize how true it is until he says it, because he’d always known Trip had eyes on him, and he’d always known how brutish and violent he could be. "But I still stayed with you. I'm mad at myself for liking it.”

“It’s a little weird but it’s just a fetish.”

“It’s pathetic,” he snaps. Trip had held his hand in place, forcing him to continue feeling him go in and out, for what seemed like ages, until he’d suddenly grinned – _yer tearing up finally_ – and then everything had changed. He’d lunged forward, slamming both of his wrists to the ground as he loomed over him and pulled his leg up over his shoulder and began to shove into him the way he had that first night. And as Virus had cried out, he’d remembered that he was supposed to be drugged, that he didn’t have to pretend he didn’t want it like this, that he didn’t even have to _pretend_ to be drugged anymore. He’d given up all pretense then, howling in ecstasy and sobbing in pain as Trip tore him in half again, keeping up a steady stream of insults as he did. He’d flipped him over after he orgasmed the first time, a climax that came embarrassingly fast, though one that made the illusion of intoxication all the more believable. _Pathetic_.

He’d been reduced to nothing by the end of it, as Trip had fucked him and then blown and fingered him and prevented him even a second of recovery while he himself geared up for a second fuck. Laughing and sobbing uncontrollably as he weakly tried to push Trip off of him – _stop, Trip, I’m going to die_ – his  body so wrung out and sensitive he’d all but shrieked when the younger man had gently, so _gently_ , kissed his belly unexpectedly when it was over, licked the come off torso, not only from the burning of his skin but from the casual dominance in Trip’s every move that made him dizzy with _need_ even after three orgasms. He’d played a different game that time, showing his power over him in the volatile shift, the juxtaposition of tenderness with violence, and all it had done was broken Virus in the one way he’d managed to resist the first night. _Pathetic_.

The younger man sees none of this turmoil though as he runs his hand through his hair and rubs his head like he does when he’s frustrated. “Well what dya want me to do? I can pretend to forget. Never bring…”

But Virus cuts him off, because what Trip is suggesting is more than he deserves – _again again harder again please god it hurts oh god Trip harder please! –_ because in all the increasingly depraved and humiliating rape fantasies he’d had over the last six weeks, he’d never allowed himself to beg for more, clinging to that last ragged shred of dignity, and Trip had still wrung it out of him. He’d said a lot of things earlier that evening, things he can’t take back or forget now, not when Trip _knows_.

"Do whatever you want with me," he takes a deep breath, digs his nails into his palms and forcibly stills the trembling of his thighs, steels the trembling in his mind, before continuing. “Fuck me and hurt me. That’s what I want you to do. Reduce me, control me, dominate me. I want to be terrified beneath you. I want to be your whore.”

"For real?”

"Whenever you want. I like the...unexpectedness. The surprise. What do you think about bondage?” The last comment falls out before he can stop himself, and it’s all he can do to freeze, to be sure he doesn’t glance in Trip’s direction as he hears another low whistle.

“Wow, Virus…” He says nothing else for a long moment. Then, finally, just as Virus is cringing, gritting his teeth in self-loathing for going too far, for making even Trip uncomfortable, the younger man replies. “I haven’t done much, just fucked around with it when I was younger. But I know a few stores online. We could…pick stuff together. Mebbe. If you know more.”

He feels himself freeze again, unable to move as a slow warmth fills the pit of his stomach. He imagines the two of them lying in bed together, websurfing with their shoulders and hips and thighs touching, picking out which toys to try right now, which for someday, which seem too crazy to ever touch, the two of them laughing as they spend tens of thousands of yen on increasingly depraved sex toys and bondage gear and drugs. And surprises himself with the longing he feels. That’s what does it, what makes him shake the affection off, wall it away in his mind far better than he could the masochism, and he replies.

“Surprise me.”

 

 

 


End file.
